Steel
by Lulubird
Summary: The Capitol has taken everything from Enobaria, and now it is time she returns the favour. Part 3 of Enobaria: Snow, Blood and Steel. Follows Canon. Time: Post 74th HG - end of Mockingjay.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note at the end of chapter**

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"**Poverty isn't bad housing, dirty clothing, families of 10. It's never having been loved or even respected. Not knowing the difference between love and abuse. A kiss that wasn't a down payment on a blow." – Father Jones, Call the Midwife, S1 E2**

Whatever had been Enobaria, disappeared after the events of the 74th Hunger Games. Physically, the shell that I used to be still sat in my parent's bedroom, the curtains pulled tight regardless of day or night. From the outside the house would have looked silent and deserted. The idea of food made me ill and the idea of venturing outside filled me with a terror so severe that my body would shake uncontrollably.

It wasn't that I was scared of the outside world. Really, what was there left to be scared of anyway? The worst thing in the world had already happened. No, it was that the outside world held something much worse than fear. Out the front door there was sunshine and people and a world that seemed to be continuing as if the very heart of it hadn't been ripped out. It made me sick to hear the birds chirp or a distant call from the street. Locked in the cocoon of my parent's bedroom, I could believe that the world had come to a halt, just as it should have.

After what might have been two weeks, I had lost all the muscle tone that I had spent years of training cultivating. My skin that had been bronzed caramel by the sun since I was a child, had turned as pale as Clove's had been when she lay on the cold metal table in the Capitol medical lab. Once, I caught sight of myself in the reflection of a window and I no longer recognised the person there. She had hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. Most unrecognisable of all was the defeat etched into her face.

It took three weeks for someone to knock at the door. I ignored it. I knew it had been coming. As much as I wished it, the world would not leave me alone to die. A feral, manic laugh slipped from my lips at the thought that the girl who had never had anyone, would not be left alone to die when it was the one thing she wanted.

I lay in the darkness, curled into a ball on top of the faded covers of my parent's bed and listened to the knocking, wondering without interest who it was. I could come up with only two people who would bother to try – Domitius and Amica. I placed my money on the former, but perhaps that was just me hoping for that. If there was one person I never wanted to face again it was Amica. How could I looked at the only person who had ever been kind to me, and know that I had been responsible for the deaths of two of her sons? How could I looked at her features and not be reminded of the menacing boy whom I hated, but who had stayed with Clove when –

I couldn't think of that. I could bring myself to go down that path, even in my own mind. The last three weeks, it had taken every ounce of energy I could summon just to shut the thoughts down whenever they slithered into my mind. That was why it was so much safer to sit in the room that filled me with anger and longing at my long dead parents, because anything else outside that door would only make me think of her.

Vaguely I became aware that the knocking had ceased and I briefly allowed myself to hope that they had given up, that the effort had been a courtesy one and that they didn't really have any desire to rouse me from my darkness. It was strange that it was the absence of the sound that I noticed more than I had the sound itself, and I found my ears were straining, wondering if something more would come.

Lethargy aside, when there was a loud crash my irrepressible instincts sent me flying into a sitting position, my heart pounding in my ribcage and making me feel light headed with the sudden adrenalin.

A moment later when there was footsteps in the hall, I dropped my face into my hands and groaned. I couldn't believe that anyone had bothered enough to actually break through the door. It wouldn't be hard, but it would take far more effort than I was worth to anyone.

The next knock was insistent and on the other side of the bedroom door. Even though it was just knuckles on wood it had a tone of impatience and stubbornness and I knew that my wishes were not going to be headed by the universe.

The small room suddenly felt claustrophobic. It was stuffy with the curtains shut tight against the daylight and no possibility of escape. There was no lock on the door and nothing to stop whoever it was from entering and breaking into my carefully constructed shell. Panic sent adrenalin sweeping through my body and once that feeling would have made me react with force, hitting out at anything I deemed a threat, reaching for a weapon so that I could control whatever happened next. But I no longer cared and now the adrenalin just overwhelmed me and left me feeling even more powerless, sending me back into a foetal position on the covers, my only defence against whatever was demanding entry.

"Enobaria?"

The voice was not one I had expected but not even that could inspire more than a small spark of alarm. My mind tried to process what my ears were telling me but I could only conclude was that I must be delusional.

"Enobaria Reyes, open this door!"

The voice was unmistakable with that tone, though it had been many years since I had heard it. Still, I'd know that soft, slightly husky voice anywhere. The realisation, and the inevitable memories that came with it, sent me spiralling again and I curled into myself tighter. Tears squeezed themselves with admirable determination between my closed eyelids and soaked into the faded blue cover beneath my cheek.

The sensations of the world faded like the beautiful nothing that had wrapped around me when I took the Morphling tablets that Hazel had given me. Distantly, I heard a click and a swish and then there was a creak and the ground dipped, tilting alarmingly and I knew with dismay that she'd sat down on the bed. I could tell though that she had no come close enough to touch me and I was grateful for that small courtesy.

"En?"

I'd never understood how someone could have kindness and command in their voice at the same time. Both of them struck me like a blow in the chest, tugging my eyelids to open and my brain to function. I blinked away the blur that was either over my eyes or my brain and tried to make out the face above me. The first thing that hit me was red, read hair, and it was if I was twelve years old again and meeting Junia for the first time. But with awareness came memory and I knew that I was not twelve and too many years had passed since then, too many years and too much pain for both of us. The last time I had seen my training partner, Junia had me slammed up against a wall in the Training Centre and she had been hissing that I was the one that should be dead.

I remembered as if it was yesterday the pure hatred in her eyes. It had been yesterday in a way, because I'd looked at myself in the mirror and seen there the same loathing and rage. The old Enobaria would have preferred that hatred to the pity that was etched on Junia's face now but I was too exhausted to care either way.

"Domitius was worried about you," Junia said simply, this time, her voice devoid of emotion. She raised a hand a flicked a lock of deep red hair from her eyes. Despite the almost eight years since I had last seen her, she looked remarkably similar. She had the large, innocent eyes and doll-like features that made her look child like, even at twenty-five. Those eyes were still a strong, deep blue that contrasted surprisingly with her auburn hair and they still had the steely determination that I remembered.

"He can't have been that worried." My own voice surprised me because I didn't remember telling it to speak. It had been so long since I spoke aloud and it sounded dry and hoarse. Junia wriggled slightly in her spot, seeming to settle herself even more and I realised miserably that she was not going to leave. Feeling my muscles protest any movement, I uncurled myself from my tight ball and pulled myself painfully into a sitting position. I tucked my knees up under my chin and regarded Junia with an inhospitable gaze.

She, in turn, seemed unperturbed by my anger and shrugged. Of course she wasn't fazed. She had spent six years in the Centre, training with me and under the fiercest fighters of the district. She might look doll like and innocent but Junia had been trained to kill too.

"He thought you might launch a dozen knives into him if he came," she said calmly. "You weren't very nice to him last time you saw him."

She was lying. Domitius would not be afraid of me and he certainly wouldn't be worried about how nice I was to him. But I couldn't be bothered to consider why she would lie.

"He would deserve it if I did," I replied stonily. The thought of him inspired a flicker of my old anger. It felt good. Anger and violence were familiar and comfortable and they brought with them a sense of power. I lifted my head a little higher and glared openly at Junia.

"I'm surprised you can stand to look at me, Junia, considering I killed the man you loved."

I was challenging her, looking for that flinch of pain that told me I was right. I wanted to push her, push her out the door and the only way I knew how was to use Manius. It hurt to remember the guilt but it would be better for both of us if she just left.

She didn't flinch though, nor break my gaze. Instead she sighed sadly and clasped her hands in her lap.

"You can try that if you want, Enobaria, but it has been eight years since I hated you so I'm not sure it will work. I was grieving when I said those things to you, and I'm sorry for them now. They were not fair and they were not true. Manius' death was not your fault."

A confession and an apology were the last thing I had expected. I didn't know what to do with an apology. I wanted anger, venom, blame, guilt. I wanted to add Manius' death and Junia's pain to my list of sins. Just one more death I was responsible for.

"It _was_ my fault," I shot back when I had recovered enough to speak. "I left him to die, alone and in pain, and I turned my back on him."

Junia fixed me with a gaze so steady it made my stomach flutter nervously. "President Snow and the Capitol killed my husband, not you Enobaria Reyes, no matter how mightily you might think of yourself."

The disguised insult surprised me just as much as the apology had. Slowly I processed Junia's words. Ice slithered through my veins at the mention of the President and I had to press my lips together to hold in my hiss of anger. And then I processed the other part of what Junia had said.

"...your husband?"

A look of triumph flashed across Junia's face and too late I realised that my voice had been curious, not angry. Without explanation Junia climbed to her feet and held a hand out to me.

"Come on, there's someone I want you to meet."

Despite her words she didn't give me much of a choice as she leaned down, clasping my hand in a firm grip, and pulled me roughly to my feet. I was forced to support myself or crash to the ground. I could have fought back, lashed out, refused, but they were things that the old Enobaria with will and energy would have done. Instead I found myself following meekly behind Junia as she led me from the bedroom.

Sunlight was streaming through the front door which had been left wide open and I flinched away from the light and the outside world. It was too bright and it hurt my eyes and made my head swim. Mercifully, Junia hesitated in the open doorway, my hand still captured in hers, and gave me a moment to adjust to the sunlight. She only gave a moment though, and then she was pulling me down the front steps of the house and into the outside world for the first time since returning from the Capitol.

I stumbled through the blinding spots dancing in my vision and then found myself sitting on the bottom step, pushed down my Junia's hands on my shoulders. When my vision cleared some I stared out across the ragged remains of our front garden. It was mostly just a scrawny patch of unattended grass, but it was the figure sprawled in that grass which really caught my attention.

A child lay on their back, partly obscured by the swaying green stems. All I could see in the sunlight was the small spindly arms and a flash of dark hair.

A red hot poker stabbed in my chest. Against all logic, my little sister was sprawled carefree in the grass, just like she had been years ago before the anger and hatred spread through her tiny body like a disease.

"Aixa!" Junia's voice beside me made my panic spike a familiar jolt of adrenalin. It spurred the child too and I saw with a sinking heart that the dark haired little girl wasn't Clove. She didn't look anything like her when she rolled onto her stomach and lifted herself above the line of grass stalks and wild flowers. Her face was too round, her hair a shade too light and her smile was too genuine. But her dainty little face and full lips looked just like Junia and her wavy dark hair, broad smile and piercing black eyes were the spitting image of Manius. She bounded through the grass towards us, skidding to a halt with a childish playfulness that I didn't recall ever actually seeing in a child before. I knew before Junia explained, exactly who this child was.

"Enobaria, this is Aixa, my daughter."

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**A/N: Welcome, readers new and old! For the new ones, this is part 3 of my Enobaria: Snow, Blood and Steel Trilogy. I strongly suggest that you at least flick through parts 1: Snow and 2: Blood if you want this chapter and story to make sense, but if not, I'll just tell you that this picks up a few weeks after the end of the 74th Hunger Games and will continue till the end of Mockingjay, and the entire story is follows canon. **

**To my old readers, thank you so much for returning! I love you all so much. I know I promised that part 2 would be finished off with an AU chapter when this one was uploaded, but it's turned into a very, very long piece and I'm still working on it. I didn't want to hold up the rest of the story, so I will let you know when I've uploaded that and you can take a break from heartache and go live in a world where thing aren't quite so terrible for a few thousand words. **

**This part of the trilogy is my favourite, so I sincerely hope you all continue to stick with me for it, because I can promise you that it isn't all heartache like the last few, and there are more than a few happy surprises. **

**Till next time dear readers. **

**- Lu**

**PS. I HAVE to thank Forbidden Moons, who over the last few weeks has reviewed what feels like every chapter of the last two parts. It gave me great delight to come home each day and see all your reviews there, so thank you for taking the time to read it all, and even more to let me know your thoughts. It's appreciated beyond words.  
**


	2. Chapter 2

"Your...daughter?" The words pulled themselves from me in disbelief, even though I knew they were true. I had realised it even before Junia had told me. I looked from the smugly smiling woman beside me to the child who was watching us curiously. She looked about seven or so, perhaps less?

I stared at the little girl. She held my gaze for a several moments until she tilted her head to the side, a mischievous smile sliding onto her face.

"Mami, can I go look at the woods over there?"

She had barely waited for a reply before she was off, dashing through the grass and darting around logs. She yelped as she leaped to avoid a low hanging branch. Junia let out a low grumble but didn't do anything about it.

I turned to her, blinking, still shocked. "She's...a child?"

"Well she isn't a squirrel." Junia's voice was dry and scathing, but it wasn't cruel. She was teasing; clearly she had anticipated my shock. I looked back towards the woods. Through the leaves I could just make out the shape of the girl scrambling her way up a tree. There was a cracking sound, a yelp, and a crash. I watched with amazement as the girl shook herself off, glared up at the tree and began to climb it again. It was exactly what Clove would have done, if she'd ever been the sort of child to playfully climb trees.

An overwhelming sadness bore down upon me as I watched Aixa play. That was what childhood was supposed to look like. It was supposed to be about play and adventure and comfort. She looked over her should to make sure her mother was watching her and with that for courage, she climbed a branch higher. She was not scared and angry with the world. She did not draw comfort from weapons that provided protection.

Clove and I had never had the luxury of something as simple as a childhood, and I hadn't even realised it until now.

Junia continued to watch her daughter and as we watched her make it to the next branch of the tree she began to speak.

"I was furious at you when Manius died. Days before the Games, I found out I was pregnant and I begged him to come back to me. I didn't care if it meant you and everyone else in there died. We were going to have a baby and I was so, so scared. I didn't think I could do it on my own...I didn't _want_ to do it on my own."

"You loved him." It was a statement. I'd known even when we were still training that Junia and Manius had loved each other. I remembered watching their swift exchange of smiles and easy, natural reassurance of each other and being amazed that anyone could feel love like that, let alone in the environment of the Centre. I'd never understood it but I'd been unable to deny it. I felt rather than saw Junia nodding.

"I still love him. And I love Ai because she reminds me of him and she means that I never really lost him...her name means life, you know."

The girl had made it to the third branch now and she was easily four feet off the ground, though she seemed completely fearless. _Just like Clove_ _was_ said a little voice in my head.

"Aren't you worried she'll fall?" I asked Junia, surprised at the concern in my own voice. Nurture was not a trait I'd ever associated with myself, despite the fact that I'd raised Clove. We'd always had a different kind of relationship.

Junia shrugged and then turned to face me.

"She might hurt herself falling out of that tree, or she might hurt herself training till she's a killer and then walking into that Arena and slaughtering other children. She has to learn to bounce, and I know which way I'd rather she do it."

I felt there should have been an accusation to her words - after all, I had been one of those people trained to kill, who had walked into an Arena and slaughtered children - but there was no sharpness to her voice. Junia just sighed and ran a hand through her hair, her fingers snagging on a knot. Absently she began to untangle it, thinking aloud.

"I know you feel like it's your fault that Clove died," she ignored the low hiss that I let out, "but it isn't, just as Manius' death wasn't your fault. We're just little puppets in their sick games and no matter how deadly we are we're powerless against them...I'm sure you know that better than most, Enobaria."

She gave me a pointed look and suddenly I found myself shivering, unwillingly remembering the powerlessness I'd felt at the hands of the Capitol. I dropped my eyes and placed my head in my hands. "You know, then?"

"After I left the Training Centre, when Aixa was born, Domitius kept in touch. I think he liked having someone to talk to who wasn't involved in the madness of that place. He talked about you a lot."

Instinctively I let out a low growl, loathing the idea that he had done that. How dare he talk to anyone about the things he hadn't even been able to talk to me about? He had never told me, never warned me about what winning would actually mean, not even when he knew I was going to the Capitol to practically be sold like an animal. How did he even have the right to talk to Junia about it?

"He had no r-" my angry words were cut off by Junia.

"Do you remember how he used to be with Tass? He was different with her, almost like he loved her like a daughter." I lifted my head at the mention of the blonde haired girl who still haunted my nightmares, the girl who had been too good to survive. Junia continued, ducking her head to meet my eyes. "Well that's how he talks about you too, En. He loves you...as if you were his own daughter. He tore himself apart with worry for you when you were in the Arena and he tried so hard to protect you from the Capitol. He hates himself everyday for what he sees as his failures...all of them."

I held Junia's gaze, confused by the mass of information. Reluctantly, I felt my anger at Domitius ebbing slightly, though there was still enough of it. He had still lied to me, still hidden things from me; he was still hugely responsible for what had happened to Clove.

"His failures?" I repeated in a stiff voice, not trusting myself to say any more.

Junia nodded solemnly. "He couldn't save Clove, he couldn't keep you out of harm's way, and he couldn't stop you getting chosen for tribute. I think he knew all along you would always go into that Arena, so he resigned himself to training you so you had no choice but to walk out alive." She paused for a long time, biting her lip as if she was unsure of her next words. Eventually her expression revealed her decision. She spoke in a flat tone, as if she were repeating something she'd heard many times before.

"I think most of all he wished he could done more for you. He didn't fight for your mother, for Cassandra, even though he loved her. He lost her in a way worse than death and to this day he curses your father for having all that he did and not appreciating it. He hated that he couldn't protect you from him so he resigned himself to helping you protect yourself."

She glanced across to where, with a triumphant shout, Aixa jumped from a branch 8 feet off the ground, and landed in the dirt with a thud and a wicked giggle.

"He was never happy and you were never happy. It broke his heart."

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Despite what Junia had told me, I couldn't change completely. Most days I could make it to the steps where we sat, but I still couldn't face the world beyond that. I moved from my permanent position in the darkened bedroom to one at the kitchen table, tracing the grains of wood with my finger.

I couldn't forgive Domitius, either. Junia's story had made my chest constrict with emotions I couldn't comprehend, but anger still swirled in my blood every time I thought of him. He had trained Clove just like he had trained me but he hadn't saved her. If what Junia said was true, then he should have been able to bring her home just like he did me. We were both our mother's daughters.

His blame though was nothing compared to my own. He had failed her but I was the one that had led her down the path of danger. I should have known what was going on. I should have known.

It seemed cruel that it was only in the hours of empty time that I poured over every action, every word, every moment with Clove, and realised that I should have known something was horribly wrong. I remembered watching Clove torment bugs on the kitchen floor and her squeals of delight at their suffering echoed through the house. I remembered the way her eyes had gleamed whenever I told her about a kill in the woods, and the way she had trailed her fingers through the blood of my first deer. I remembered her joy at a new knife, not simply the comfort that I felt at the sight of a weapon that represented strength and safety, but a manic smile and wide, crazed eyes.

With each memory I would scream and grip my head and try to shake the thoughts out and wonder how I had never seen any of it before.

I wanted to blame Cato too, because in my memories he was always there, holding his hand out to Clove with the same look in his eyes. I wanted it to be his fault. I wanted the beautiful boy with golden hair to have taken my little sister and corrupted her, filled her heart with cruelness and arrogance. I wanted so badly for it to be his fault.

I knew it wasn't.

It was me and it was Clove. The painfully sensible voice said that even if I had noticed, it wouldn't have made a difference. There had been something horribly, horribly wrong with her.

Five days after Junia's visit, I couldn't take the pressure in my head any more. When a clap of thunder echoed over the house, I was suddenly filled with the electric urge to run, to pump my arms and legs until there was nothing left to feel.

I was out of the house and into the woods before I had even properly thought about it. The leaden grey clouds overhead rumbled discontentedly as I raced through the trees, uncaring that I had no pace and that my lungs were burning fire and my legs were screaming.

Heavy drops of rain began to pound the ground around me as I pushed deeper into the woods. Branches reached out and left crimson claw marks across my cheeks and down my arms. I hit a log and fell hard, slamming my palms and knees onto rocks ground. Pain radiated in my shoulders but I pushed it aside and scrambled to my feet again. As I ran I let each the ache of each joint and the sting of each cut blend together until all I could feel was a single unit of powerful pain. It sang in my head and left no room for anything else.

My route took me far into the woods behind my house and around in a wide sweeping arc. It hit the edge of the old quarry lake and continued along the marshy shore. The rain was falling with ferocity and the other shore was invisible behind a curtain of grey. The water was churning with hundreds of fat drops of rain and the ground had turned slippery and dangerous. Mud and lake water joined the dirt and blood and rain that covered me from head to foot.

The shore of the lake curved around and sent me back towards civilisation until I burst from the edge of the trees onto the grass plain behind my house. I stopped and my legs gave out. The grass was soggy against my skin. My breath was ragged and it felt as though my lungs and throat were bleeding and raw. I tumbled forward, kneeling in the mud as my rasping breath gave way to heaving sobs that rippled through my entire body. I clutched my arms tight around myself in a vain attempt to keep them inside.

Pain rippled through me and I couldn't move. I curled into a ball and let it go, let the rain crash down onto me, the mud seep into my clothes, the blood seep out of my body and the tears pour down my cheeks.

It took a long time before I was able to draw a deep breath again. The tears ceased only when I think there were none left to cry. Every muscle trembled with exhaustion and cold as I slowly uncurled and raised myself to my knees. My hair tendrils that had twisted around my face and throat as though they wanted to throttle me. The sky overhead was darkening to dusk but the storm was passing. Thunder rumbled in the distance. My head swum as I raised it.

Pain and cold and hunger and exhaustion gripped me, but I didn't mind. Something was different. Not better, but different.

When I had gathered the strength, I pushed myself back into a sitting position, scrabbling with my mud caked fingers to rid my face from tendrils of hair. I exhaled shakily. The rain was easing.

Something caught my eye in the trees beside the house. I swept water and blood from my eyes and tried to focus through the drizzle.

Someone stood between the two pine trees that divided the Navarro's cottage form ours. My muscles tensed painfully.

Realising that I had spotted her, the woman shifted slightly. She was soaking and shivering as well, but I could still recognise her perfectly. Amica held my gaze expressionlessly. How long had she been standing there and watching me? Neither of us moved for a long time.

I didn't know how I felt about her anymore. At the sight of her, guilt and fury and jealousy all fought for dominance. I knew I didn't want to speak with her though. She reminded me of Clove and she reminded me of Cato.

I also didn't know how much she hated me. It had been uncharacteristic of Amica to avoid me since I had returned from the Capitol, so I knew her grief or anger must have been overwhelming. She looked frail between the towering trees. Her body was thinner than it had been where the sopping fabric clung to it, and her face looked grey and lined.

A rogue crash of thunder made me jump and I tumbled backwards into the mud. I shook more water from my eyes and searched the trees again for Amica. She was gone. If it weren't for the footprints in the mud I would have thought my crazed mind had conjured her.

I rose to my feet, shivering uncontrollably, and spun in a circle searching the forest. I didn't expect to see her though. She couldn't face me just as I couldn't face her. I began to stumble through the wet grass and weeds back towards the house. For the first time in ages I craved feeling better. I thought of drying off and setting the fire and sitting in front of it as I pulled on fresh, clean clothes. Without realising it, I had begun to think of the future.

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**A/N: See! Even though it takes me ages, I do keep going. Have faith with me dear readers, and I promise it will be rewarded.**

**Thanks melliemoo for being my sole reviewer on chapter 1. I'd really like to hear more feedback from people! It's just so useful.**

**And don't worry, I haven't forgotten about the AU ending. It is still in progress.**


	3. Chapter 3

Never before had the Capitol seemed like a better alternative than home. The house, the woods, the Training Centre, it all hurt too much now. I couldn't stand to be around anything that reminded me of Clove, even after my conversation with Junia.

So when an invitation arrived from the Capitol, I took it, even though they had no power over me anymore and I knew only hell awaited me there. Their leverage over me was gone. But I still went. I wanted to punish myself and I could think of no better place for that than the Capitol.

I'd never appreciated the view from the window of my Capitol apartment before. Nor had I appreciated the fact that no one gave a damn about me there. After my duties were done, they left me alone. No one cared whether I left my apartment or not. So I didn't. I spent hour upon hour tucked away on the windowsill of the wall-sized window, stared out at the distant mountains and let my mind turn completely blank.

I no longer wanted to think. I wanted to be consumed with bloodlust and anger and hatred and anything that was easier than fear and powerlessness and misery. The worst one was loneliness.

Never before had I known what it truly felt like to be alone. It had always been Clove and I. While she had been alive I had had purpose. But now there seemed no point.

When the front door slid open, I was glad that I had hidden myself from sight behind the thick velvet curtains. I was glad too that whoever it was walked in without announcement. That meant it was not a Capitolian, they would be far too frightened of me.

Last night at a banquet, a man who could not keep his hands to himself had found a steak knife through one of those hands. I had seen in their panicked eyes that they knew something had changed in our little game, even if they had no clue what.

The bold, unperturbed arrival meant that it could only be another Victor invading my solitude.

"Get out, Finnick," I snapped, sure that I recognised the heady scent of jasmine and sweat.

Footsteps approached and I groaned in frustration at their persistence, glaring up in anticipation as the curtain swished aside.

I was met not with sea green eyes, but with ice blue ones. My surprise lasted only a moment and then my scowl towards the golden haired beauty of District 1 intensified. She was probably the _last_ Victor I wished to see, and that included Johanna. It wasn't bad enough that Cashmere and Gloss were our traditional district rivals, but the Valenti siblings seemed to embody everything I loathed. They relied upon their beauty to get anywhere in life, and every time I heard her obnoxious, flirty giggle and saw her flicking those curls over her shoulder, I wanted to drive knives into the nearest thing. Preferably her.

As usual, she seemed to care little for my glare or my hiss. That was one of the most irritating aspects of the Victors. They were, with the exception of Annie Cresta and probably LoverBoy, people who had slaughtered, lied, manipulated and betrayed their way to survival and they weren't phased by the fact that others had done that too. My reputation for brutality and volatility did little to scare any of them.

I still remembered watching Cashmere win. I knew that under her perfect, creamy skin and her sapphire eyes, that she was capable of brutality and viciousness to match my own. She had never ripped anyone's throat out but she did seduce her district partner, straddle him, press her lips to his and swiftly slit his throat. She had kissed him until his heart had stopped beating and his canon had fired.

"No one invited you," I said coldly as she let the curtain fall closed again behind her. She ignored me and took up a position that mirrored mine on the other end of the windowsill.

"I never need an invite, darling," she cooed patronisingly and settled herself comfortably. She fixed me with those striking blue eyes of hers. I loathed how beautiful she was. It was sickening.

"I have something to talk to you about," she continued, coolly inspecting her nails.

My eyes narrowed dubiously. Cashmere and I had never shared more than a painfully polite conversation. I could guess why she felt the need to talk to me now, and it infuriated me. My heel collided with her shin and I took a sick pleasure in knowing a bruise would mar her perfect skin tomorrow. Without hesitation she kicked back. I hissed. She snarled. We glared at each other for several tense moments until the pressure became too much, and we dropped out gaze in unison. I slumped back against the wall and crossed my arms sulkily.

"You fight like a girl," she said nastily and gave me a cruel smile. I rolled my eyes. This pathetic attempt at an argument was exactly the reason that I did not interact with girls like Cashmere.

And honestly, if _anyone_ here was to be accused of the girly stereotype...

"I don't think that District 1 girl thought that when I drove that ice pick through her throat," I spat without looking at her. "What was her name? Something typically stupid. Allure?"

Despite the indifference I forced into my expression, I remembered all of their names.

To my surprise Cashmere's mouth clamped shut. Her lips pressed into a thin white line. The hate in her eyes intensified to a point where I almost expected to burst into flames.

My gaze flickered to her and then away again, hiding my surprise at the intensity of her reaction to my taunt. After a while she licked her lips lightly.

"Odd you should bring her up, considering," she said in a strained voice. Her smile was tight forced, which only made me more alarmed.

While my head was turned towards the mountains outside, I watched her warily from the corner of my eye. Cashmere was many things, but weak was not one of them. What I had said had struck a nerve and I wanted to know why. This wasn't simply Cashmere, the angry, spoilt little girl throwing a tantrum. This was Cashmere withholding a rage that mirrored my own.

"What do you mean?" I asked carefully. I shifted, trying to move into a better position. My nerves were tingling with familiar anticipation. I clenched my fingers into a fist, prepared to defend myself.

I jolted as Cashmere tossed her head. Her curls tumbled over one shoulder. I watched with disgust, recognising a move she pulled for the cameras all the time.

When I had first seen Cashmere on the Reaping videos, I had been painfully reminded of Tass; the same beautiful, angular face and gently lashed eyes. It hadn't taken three words from Cashmere's mouth after her Victory for that illusion to shatter. She was nothing like Tacita. She was still here, five years after her Victory, after all.

This time when she smiled it was almost polite, yet no less chilling than before.

"You've been sulking in here every day," she said calmly, "mourning that psycho little sister of yours."

Pain shot through my spine and sent me snapping upright. Every muscle tenses, I scowled at her.

She didn't flinch, though wariness flickered across her face. She had known that revealing her knowledge could have drastic consequences.

The urge to rip her hair from her head and gouge out her famous eyes was overpowering. I gritted my teeth till my head ached, trying to control the blinding rage. I needed to know how she knew, and why she was raising it now. People like us did not throw these comments around lightly.

With every ounce of control I possessed, I forced myself back against the sill.

"You know?" The words escaped through my still clenched teeth.

She inclined her head regally. "I had my suspicions from the Reaping. And then when she was killed...everyone else was fixated on hose ridiculous lovebirds from District 12." She pressed a hand to her chest dramatically. "I, personally, couldn't stand them. I found you much more interesting."

At the mention of the two frauds who had replaced Clove and Cato on the Victor's podium an irrepressible growl escaped me. They had better hope I was never in the same room as them, or Fire Girl might just find herself without her jugular. No one in all of Panem would be more deserving of a repeat of my Victory kill.

Cashmere was watching me intently. The thing I'd learnt about Cashmere was that her greatest skill was deception. Only fools believed that she was as vain and stupid as she appeared.

Swallowing down the bitter taste of rage and pain, I fixed her with my own cold gaze.

"Why do you care, One? You don't give a damn about anyone but yourself and your own precious sibling." Watching Cashmere and Gloss had always made me feel slightly sick, but now the thought revolted me. They'd always had each other in this torturous journey. Clove and I could have had that. I could have helped her through her first steps in the Capitol and she would have been there to understand my anger and my hatred. She could have been at my side in the Capitol every day, just as Gloss was at Cashmere's.

My attention was pulled back to reality as Cashmere cleared her throat daintily. I mentally chastised myself for going so far into dangerous thoughts. I couldn't allow a slip like that again or I would fall over the precipice and be lost in the black abyss again.

Her eyes were burning intently upon me and I had the powerful urge to look away. I steeled myself and held her gaze.

"It must be comforting to know that the person who killed her is dead," she remarked. Despite her light tone and the carefree shrug of her shoulders, her body was tensed.

I refused to play the same games as Cashmere. She might like to play pretend for all the world, but I loathed deception. I did not hide what I thought or felt as she did.

"If I could bring him back from the dead and kill him again myself, I would." My voice was soft and low, laced with the venom inspired by dozens of nights spent lying awake, replaying that moment over and over again and wishing that, somehow, I could have forced that rock from his hand and brought it down on his own head. My nails dug into my palms at the thought. I glanced down and saw drops of crimson on the flawless, white windowsill. Cashmere's gaze followed mine and her eyebrows raised with interest.

"Yes," she murmured softly. Her eyes flickered back to mine. "Imagine if you had to look him in the eye day after day, talk to him, pretend that you didn't want to rip his heart from his chest."

Dark thoughts still swirled in my head, but my attention was caught now. Like everything about Cashmere, there was more than there appeared to be in this conversation. I didn't know what yet, and that made me nervous.

"I wouldn't pretend," I replied carefully. "I would do it."

She gave a small, rueful smile and finally looked away. She glanced down at her nails. "Yes, well, that is where you and I differ, Enobaria. You've never been very good at pretending, have you? I, on the other hand, could look my sister's killer in the eye, give them a smile, and they wouldn't even know the agony I had planned for them."

I stared at her in silence for a long time but she didn't look up at me again. Perhaps even she wasn't masterful enough to hide whatever was going through her head.

"Why are you here, Cashmere?" I asked eventually. I was tired of these games.

She gave another small smile and shook her head. When she spoke it was still facing her lap, but every word was crystal clear and controlled.

"I told you, I'm here to talk about sisters. You're not the only one who's ever lost one, you know."

I glared at her, sick of her riddles. So her sister was dead too. Poor her. Everyone in Panem had lost someone, not even the spoilt little brats of District 1 could escape that. It did explain the anger I had seen though, and why it had seemed so familiar. Perhaps there was a certain flavour of pain that came with losing a sibling.

I glanced to the side, looking out the broad window at the Capitol view beyond, though I wasn't really fixed on it. I didn't want to talk to her about Clove and I didn't give a damn about her or her dead sister. I willed her to leave, before I was forced to inflict permanent damage on her perfect face.

As if she'd heard my thoughts, she unfolded herself gracefully from the windowsill.

The curtain didn't swish closed behind her, it must have been caught on something, and so when I turned I could watch her walk all the way to the door. It was just as she'd opened the door, and was standing silhouetted in the doorframe that the question escaped me.

"How did your sister die?" I didn't care...but I was curious. I watched her shoulders tense and then she turned to me very slowly, her curtain of golden curls half falling in front of her face. Her eyes still glowed at me through it though and I found myself caught in a gaze of terrible sadness, so different to the anger from a moment ago.

"You killed her, Enobaria. You drove an icepick through her throat on the third day of the 67th Hunger Games."

She stared hard at me for a long moment and I stared back, caught in her terrible gaze. Her words didn't inspire guilt in me but I couldn't deny the obvious pain in her eyes. She didn't even try to hide it now. I was intimate with that pain.

The moment was broken as a small figure appeared in the doorway that Cashmere still held open. Johanna stuck her head curiously into the room. Her short hair looked rumpled as if she'd just crawled out of bed and, as usual, she looked like she wanted to annoy the hell out of me.

"Aw, look at you too," she cooed, her eyes flicking between where I sat on the windowsill and Cashmere, who was still staring at me apparently ignoring Johanna. "You make such a cute couple."

"Shut your mouth Johanna before I shut it for you," Cashmere hissed. Her voice was low but venomous and I saw Johanna's eyes harden with suspicion. Cashmere blinked and the spell was broken. She sailed gracefully from the room, shoving passed Johanna who shoved her back.

Johanna watched Cashmere walk down the corridor and then turned her too-large eyes on me, raising her eyebrows with a wicked grin. "Lover's spat?"

Growling, I leaped to my feet, a lot less gracefully than Cashmere had. I sent Johanna stumbling back into the hallway with a vicious shove to her chest, and slammed the door in her face, ignoring her snarl from the other side. Some days I was in the mood to wage war with Johanna Mason, but today was not one of them.

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**A/N: You guys are amazing, do you know that? There are honestly no words for how it feels knowing there are people who have stuck with my story from chapter 1. When I see comments from those of you who have been through it all, whether you read it from the start or all in one go, I'm amazed. **

**This part is quite a long one. It may take time for developments (for example, that Ena and Domitius conversation) but personally this is my favourite of the parts because a lot happens, a lot changes, there are a lot of weaving storylines, AND it's not all grey skies and rainy days for our darling killer.**

**I appreciate _all_ of you. I hope you enjoyed the Cashmere time.**

**- Lu**


	4. Chapter 4

There was an icy wind howling around the Square when the 74th Victory Tour arrived in District 2. Just as they did every year, the people gathered sullenly in the freezing air and stared mutinously up at the stage. I stood between Domitius and the Head Trainer Priscus and I stared back at them. They had given me the choice to stand on the stage as a mentor, or down in the crowd as a family member. I had weighed up the choice and decided that of my mistakes, fewer of them had been as mentor than sister, and so that was where I stood.

Priscus tried once to engage me in conversation and then turned his attentions elsewhere. To my relief, though he stood less than a foot from me, Domitius did not even glance my way. I didn't know what to feel towards him anymore. There was too much suffering for Junia's words to make the anger vanish, but they kept coming back to me in the dark of night when there was no other distraction.

I just wanted the Victory Tour to be over.

That creature, the girl from District 12, was going to be sharing this stage with me in mere minutes and still I dreamed of nothing more than ripping out her throat. The only thing that kept my feet planted where they were was the thousands of upturned faces. If I snapped and slaughtered Fire Girl on the stage they would all see my destruction. They would know I was asking for death with Peacekeepers thronging the Square, and they would know how much I was hurting to do something that reckless. They would know that I didn't care anymore.

There had only ever been two things that kept me alive. One was Clove. And the other was my pride. And even though one had gone it seemed the other stubbornly refused to follow.

To distract myself from my seething, I ran my gaze over the crowd. The quarry workers and miners were looking even skinner and dirtier this year. And there seemed to be twice as many Peacekeepers as normal. I hadn't had any interest in the events of Panem since the Games so I had no idea what could have inspired such numbers, especially in this district.

Briefly, my gaze flickered to where the families of the tributes had been given a small stage in the middle of the crowd. The Capitol liked its Victors to have to look the families in the eye. Usually the two families huddled together at opposite ends. Only one had I seen the stage full in one, unanimous gathering of grief. Three years ago, when Johanna had won, Tobias and Milena had left behind a single family. I hadn't found out until after the Games that they had been cousins. On the day of the Victory Tour, I still remembered my unexpected tug of guilt at the sight of their large, sprawling family, all with the same pale skin and dark hair as the two dead teenagers. That day their family had been doubly grieving.

I didn't expect the stage to hold many people this year. Clove and I had never known family. If we had aunts and uncles then they had split from my parents many years ago and our grandparents were all dead. Amica had been born in District 1 and I had never seen any of her husband's family. Our two fragile families hadn't been able to afford the losses we'd been forced to bear.

My breath caught in my throat when I lay eyes on Amica.

She stood in the centre of the stage, straddling the invisible lines between the families. Her two remaining sons stood guard on either side of her. On her left Aron looked older and more solemn than I ever remembered and Taras on her right was glaring at his feet.

My chest ached. The three of them looked so strong. They looked as though they could face the lovers of District 12 and the Capitol and the entire District. Amica had been a better mother to Clove and I than our own. Her sons had been brothers to Clove as she grew up. She may not have been able to forgive me for Cato's death, but Amica didn't extend her blame to Clove and that made my whole body hurt. She wasn't going to let Clove be represented by an empty stage.

They gave me the courage I needed when Fire Girl and Lover Boy eventually walked onto the stage. I couldn't look in their direction but every nerve in my body hummed with the knowledge that that were feet away. My blood pulsed with the desire to kill them both, to make them pay for their victory. They both stood there - worthless, liars, undeserving. They had taken Clove and Cato's places on the Victor's podium and for what? Because they could parade Katniss' frail little sister on the Capitol's screens and pretend to be in love? I hoped they knew how unworthy they were of life. I hoped they would soon find out exactly what the cost of Victory was and I hope it would rip apart their souls.

There was more hatred directed toward the winners in the crowd than usual. I wasn't the only one who resented the couple their win, that much was obvious.

Everdeen gave her speech from some pieces of card in her hand. She sounded like one of the automatons in the Capitol that greeted you with a recorded message. She spoke of the Capitol's generosity and the vitality of District 2. She told us we were strong, indispensible parts in the machine of Panem. She said that our tributes had showed those qualities in their fight.

I set my jaw and conjured the image of her stuck up a tree, Clove and the other Careers prowling the base. It had been a fluke that she survived. Anyone who believed that she had won based on skill or worthiness was delirious.

I stood and glared at her back as she stepped aside from the microphone to scattered, unenthusiastic applause. She was nothing. She was a girl who knew nothing of the world, of hardship, or pain or suffering. The Capitol had her painted as a tragic hero, a lover, a sister, but she was just a coward who let other people die for her. There was absolutely nothing special about Katniss Everdeen and I was going to prove it when I ripped the arteries from her throat and let her blood fly into the wind.

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**A/N: Sorry everyone for the long delay and short chapter. The next one will be not far away and it is longer. **

**I'm glad that you liked my portrayals of Cashmere and Johanna. Interesting that a few of you had guessed who Allure was. Keep up the comments, it's so good to hear what you think!**

**-Lu**


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